A Series of Plans
by ashestoashesanddusttodust
Summary: Any problem can be solved with a good enough plan. It just takes finding the right kind of plan for Tony's problem. IronHawk
1. Plan A

**A Series of Plans  
**

**A Word**: I have nothing.

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* * *

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Tony's managed to create a spreadsheet and an entire program devoted to figuring out the exact color of Clint Barton's eyes before he gets smacked upside the head by A Clue.

The Clue is Pepper. Wearing her very best I-will-eat-you-alive power suit and looking the kind of exasperated that makes even the board of trustees back off every once in a while. The smack is literal and comes via a very hard and pointy clipboard she folds under her arms afterwards.

"Ow!" Tony carefully backs away from the table he's been hovering over for the last few hours. The tablet he was using is sturdy and nearly indestructible, but he has some exposed circuitry for the suit that won't hold up so well if Pepper's feeling particularly destructive. "That hurt? What have I done to get you in such a sadistic mood?" He adds a quick, "Lately!" on because she looks ready to start _listing_ things, and Tony's heard more than enough of that to last him a lifetime thank you.

"You're ignoring your email for starters," the clipboard gets thrust back in his face meaningfully and Tony's eyes cross before he focuses on something that looks like a time table. "I don't ask much from you Tony except to send me a few vaguely affirmative answers a few times a day so I can get the things _you_ want done, done," she's close to full on rant mode as the clipboard goes away again. "Now stop _mooning_ over your archer and send me an approval so I can _legally_ get the crews in to start fixing the building."

"Jarvis!" An email pops up on his tablet and Tony doesn't bother reading it before he sends it to Pepper. It's irritating how Pepper keeps running into problems running the company. If he didn't think she'd take full advantage of it to try and get him committed or something, he'd find a way to give her all the legal powers needed to act on his behalf. "And what do you mean 'mooning?' I'm not 'mooning' over anyone!"

"Oh, Tony," Pepper sounds tired and amused all at once as she smiles at him fondly like she hasn't since before they stopped trying to be a thing. She taps a long finger on his tablet bringing back the tracker he'd been idly working on. A swipe of her finger brings up the picture gallery. Dozens of close up pictures of Clint's eyes that are a veritable kaleidoscope of colors. "You're so close to pining it's not even funny reporting it to Rhodes anymore."

"I'm trying to figure out what color his eyes are!" Tony protests because it's a valid question. The man has a serious case of color changing eyes tha Tony thought was only a trope in bad story writing. Blue or gray or even green depending on the light. Tony swears he saw them turn silver once and that's so out of bounds for a reportedly normal human that Tony just had to-

Tony blinks and watches as the gallery continues to shuffle through the available photographs. Sixty three photos from several different times and sources. Many of them in secure enough areas that even with Jarvis' help Tony's sure his hacking was noted. The rest are from the cameras built into the suit helmet that Tony has written a program specifically to capture stills of Clint's eyes.

Damn, his stomach twists as his perception shifts. Tony hates when things like this snuck up on him.

"Wait," Tony stops panicking about Clint to panic over something else far more important. "You talk to _Rhodey_ about this!?"

"He understands my pain," Pepper rolls her eyes before turning on one sharp heel to march out of the lab. "Just ask him out to dinner and get on with it, Tony. And keep up with your emails!"

Tony scowls at the closed doors feeling oddly put out that the two people closest to him have —-once again—- spotted something before he has. "Traitors, the both of them."

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Clint Barton, Tony admits to himself after a few tumblers of fine whiskey, is an attractive man. Not in the traditional sense of Hollywood. He's fit and strong, yes, but not exactly handsome. His body is more than enough to turn any head though, and Tony would not say no at all to a good fuck or two.

Rough and worn are the two words that Tony attributes most to Clint. Goofy and mean come in second place, but those are personality traits that not many people get close enough to the man to find out about. Tony's a little touched that he's one of those people.

The goofy grin that Tony can see on his face through the reflection of his glass is very telling, and Tony scowls. Reaching for the whiskey bottle because, no, he's not dealing with that tonight on top of realizing he wants to bone a government agent.

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Tony spends a good hour feeling pathetic and sorry for himself in the morning. His cheek pillowed against the cool plastic of his porcelain god. The only coherent thought going through his mind is how nice it'd be to have someone bring him coffee, and maybe hang out in the doorway and say snarky things as Tony suffers through the hangover.

"I hate you," Tony tells the damaged organ in his chest that clenches at the thought, his roiling stomach, and the still waters of the toilet. He's way too old to be falling this fast —-again-— for someone he barely knows beyond a few missions, and some truly hilarious debriefings.

"Jarvis," Tony grunts out as he flushes the toilet. Hoping the sound will trigger that one last bout of puking that will lead to him feeling better. "Get me everything we have on Barton, and get Dummy to bring me some coffee or something."

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The main problem -—aside from the whole _feelings_ thing-— is that Tony doesn't have all that much interaction with Clint. A few snarky words traded throughout missions, a helping hand when the man inevitably has to leave a high spot fast, and an occasional middle finger as a farewell salute. It's a sketchy as hell thing to base any feelings off of, and if Tony had caught onto what he was doing sooner he would've been able to head that right off at the pass.

He didn't though, and now he has to deal with it.

He has to find a way to increase their interactions. To get beyond the only meeting for missions block. Daily interaction is ideal, but Tony'll settle for weekly at this point. He can always build up from there.

Funny thing is, Clint doesn't seem to leave SHIELD's flying fortress much outside of missions, and while Tony isn't exactly banned from it he's not likely to go more than ten minutes without finding himself with a totally unnecessary escort. Tony pours through every file and scrap that Jarvis can pull up and begins to work out a plan.

.

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Plan A is foolproof, hence why it is Plan A.

"My place is pretty big," Tony effortlessly slides in the opening bid after he settles an overlarge pair of sunglasses on his face. They're cheap and not branded, but he can't really be picky considering they've just finished tearing up a good bit of Times Square preventing squid aliens from taking over. He's working on a design to get a good pair to transport well with the suit but so far hasn't found a solution that doesn't take power away. "I got more than enough space for you. Hell, you can have your own floor."

Clint, whose apartment hadn't survived the Chitauri according to the files kept on him, pauses in collecting his arrows. A skeptical look crossing his face even as his fingers continue to run over each arrow. Checking for flaws before slotting them back into the high tech quiver that Tony knows he can do a much better job designing. "You want to give me an entire _floor_ in your tower?"

"Yes!" No, Tony wants to give Clint a very specific floor in his Tower. Tony's floor to be precise, but Pepper's been getting on him about working on his subtility lately.

Rogers, bless his naive little cock blocking heart, cuts in with a pleased smile that probably dropped panties everywhere in his time. "That sounds swell actually. It'd be nice to have the team all under one roof."

"It's not bad," Bruce admits and Tony will totally call him out on the reluctance in his voice later when he's not busy being horrified at his offer being taken totally out of context. "He's much less invasive than you think he'd be."

"Hey!" Tony protests as a SHIELD agent shows up with one of those robes they keep on hand for Bruce. A full five seconds before the first flash of the press can go off. It's a timing thing that Tony has to admit the spooks have down pat. "I'm an absolute _joy_ to live with!"

"You're _something_ alright," Clint mutters, turning his back to the cameras as Natasha materializes out of thin air. He's smirking though and looks thoughtful so Tony lets the insult slide. "Don't know what I'd do with an entire floor though."

"Half a floor then," Natasha cuts in with a frank and considering look that kinda makes Tony's balls want to curl up and die. Just a little. "I won't share with anyone but Clint, and we get final say on the layout."

"I could share a floor with Thor," Steve muses as they all start to walk away from the growing crowd shouting questions. He looks eager and a bit like a kid going away to summer camp. Tony's reminded, abruptly, that the housing section of his files wasn't all that much better than Clint's. "Whenever he gets back that is."

"Whatever you guys want," Tony graciously gives in and stops fighting the misunderstanding, because it actually kind of is a brilliant idea now that he's thinking about it. Clint's nodding as Nat says something about a shared armory on their floor. Which is close enough to agreement that Tony's willing to feel downright charitable. "Mi casa and all that. Let's get some burgers and I'll call the contractors in to start designing."

Plan A is flawless, but, Tony is willing to concede, his timing could use a little more work.

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	2. Plan B

**A Series of Plans  
**

**A Word**: I have nothing.

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* * *

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Plan B takes some time to finesse because moving the entire team into the Tower takes more work than he expected. Most of the work involves getting eyeballed by Fury's single, hairy eye as Tony shoots down every contract and agreement the man can throw his way. SHIELD approved housing is apparently rare for a reason, and Tony just isn't going to have any of that nonsense in _his_ home.

It's a full two weeks after most of the heavy construction is done and they've all moved in that Tony even realizes the fatal flaw in Plan A.

Clint might be in the same building now, but there's still not much to promote interaction between them. Or anyone actually. They've all holed up in their little suites and rarely come out unless they're headed out somewhere else.

That's not right for anyone. So, Tony calls the contractors back in and gives up one of his floors to the common good. He draws up some quick basic plans and turns them over with a hefty budget to the incredibly happy man in charge, and tells him to surprise him. Kitchen, dining room, entertainment room, and a conference room because that'd just make Steve all too happy.

It takes another week because Tony has to help them reroute plumbing that was never intended to stop on that particular floor, but it's worth it when he has Jarvis request everyone come up to the brand new communal floor for a celebratory pizza in the very modern kitchen. The fridge is fully stocked, but Tony's damned if he's going to cook anything. He leaves the culinary arts to people who know more than how to cook ramen in a coffee pot.

"This is nice," Steve admits quietly to Tony as the man demolishes another box all on his own. A feat that is about as impressive as the fact that Natasha is keeping up with him. Tony's starting to worry that he underestimated the amount to order, but Clint and Bruce are sprawled out at the table. Already full, despite the way Clint's guarding one of the boxes from Nat and Steve.

"I know," Tony allows as Bruce gets up and begins to explore the kitchen. It's not just fully stocked with food, and the man makes a pleased noise when he finds the kettle that Tony will never, ever use. He's not sure what level everyone else is at as far as cooking goes, but he's got the basics covered in the various cupboards. Just in case. "But you aren't even talking about the best features!"

Steve obviously disagrees, but Tony kinda expected that of him. The man grew up deprived after all. It's not his fault he doesn't appreciate the stat of the art entertainment system that Tony designed himself. He'll change his tune the minute they put a movie in and the man sits down to watch it. Tony's sure of that.

"I don't even know what half of this is," Clint's wandered over to the stainless steel fridge and is poking around inside of it. Messing with the food that Tony himself doesn't even know about. He gave his card to a couple of interns and told them to take a long lunch earlier in the day. "This one isn't even labeled."

"Huh," Tony wanders over to look at the container Clint's holding. Taking the time to admire the way Clint's lips keep curling up slightly. The container has a gritty looking substance that's a little on the red side with bits of green throughout it. "Kinda looks like hummus. Or cat puke. Never could tell the difference myself."

Clint snorts a laugh and Tony swears he can feel twin disapproving stares on his back. He turns to give Bruce and Natasha a grin. Steve looks vaguely sick, but mostly curious, "What's hummus?"

"Cat puke," Clint snorts even more, the snorts turning into stiffled giggles which Tony would mock the hell out of if Nat weren't stalking towards him to snatch the container out of his hands.

"It's a dip," she places the container on the counter next to Steve and immediately goes to a cabinet. Pulling out a bag of pita chips that Tony's only fairly sure hadn't been brought in by the interns. "And it's _good_," she directs the last phrase with a glare that seems to land on Clint more than Tony.

"Sure," Clint lets the door shut and props himself up against it. Leaning distractingly close to Tony as his voice lowers, not low enough to escape sharp ears, "Just watch out for the hair balls."

Tony laughs and feels Clint shaking next to him. Bruce shakes his head and pulls his head out of a cabinet to join Steve and Natasha, "It's not as bad as they're making it out to be. Not everyone likes it," Bruce nods to Tony and Clint, "but you won't know until you've tried it."

"Right," Steve grins, the wide one that Tony used to think was artistic merit when he saw it on posters. He accepts one of the chips and scoops a small bit up on it before popping the whole thing in his mouth. Clint goes quiet and still next to him and Tony finds himself following suit as they all watch Steve's face.

Steve chews the dip and chip. And chews and chews. His eyes going just slightly wide as he starts to swallow. Slow, jerky swallows as his throat obviously tries to close up to stop him from doing that. Tony grins as Clint laughs. Long and hard as Steve's face turns disgusted.

"You can spit it out," Bruce says and even he's grinning as Natasha sniffs and pulls the dip away from Steve. Digging her own hefty bit out with a chip. "Like I said, it's not for everyone."

Steve shakes his head even as his eyes get a little bright from tears. He's still shewing and Tony finally starts to smell the stuff, garlic and the edge of spice. His mouth must be burning. Tony grins and nudges Clint, leaning just a bit more into the other man's body as he declares, "Cat. Puke."

Steve grimaces but stubbornly tries to swallow it all. Clint makes a rather convincing retching sound between his laughter that sends Steve running for the sink, and even Natasha smiles a little at that.

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The communal floor helps. They all gravitate toward it more often than not, and most meals are taken in the kitchen there. Tony congratulates himself on his brilliant plan as even Bruce starts showing his face more often without Tony having to drag him out.

The communal floor also isn't quite enough. Clint doesn't wander up to the communal floor on his own. He usually trails Natasha, and that's something that makes Tony pause because it quickly becomes clear that the two master assassins are close. Very, very close.

It's the first real snag in any of Tony's plans, because if they're a thing then Tony's lost before he's ever really begun. He's not even going to try and get between what they have going. Tony's not that kind of guy.

_If_ they're a thing. It's hard to tell even when Tony has the advantage of being able to rewind security tapes to pick apart their interactions.

They don't live together. They share the floor split by a hall reminiscent of an apartment but seem to stick to their own sides. Which doesn't mean much to them. Natasha and Clint seem to have made a game out of slipping off the grid. Leaving the very good security system Tony has set up and appearing somewhere far away from where they disappeared. With nothing more than a raised eyebrow or a cocky smirk for the camera that picks them up again.

It's easy to see their closeness when they wander up to the communal floor. If alone they move around the kitchen silently. Clint making coffee and tea without being told as Natasha pulls out two different kinds of food. A few short words are exchanged occasionally. Not always in one language, and it's obvious when Tony knows what they're saying that they don't even use use the words as they're meant to be used. They speak more in looks and body language than anything else. They talk out loud only when someone else is present. Whether they're in the same room or an adjacent one. They talk then about things that don't have much meaning. Everyday things, training, Tony's sleep schedule.

And Tony makes a mental note to talk to Pepper about the fact that she's _assigning_ the Avengers to dragging him out of the labs and into a bed. Literally in Steve's case, because the good Captain gets irritated far too easily and isn't above threatening to _sit_ on him.

Tony watches and listens, but he doesn't learn too much that's useful and it's starting to frustrate him.

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Tony's tossing around ideas on another behavior analyzing program when he becomes abruptly aware he isn't as alone he thought. Thin, cold fingers wrap around his throat from behind and squeeze. Lightly but firmly enough to make Tony freeze.

"I shouldn't have to say anything, but you can be remarkably dense for such a smart man," Natasha's voice is as cool as her fingers. "Do you know how vexing it is to have to explain things that are obvious?"

"Uh, yes?" All the time, but Rhodey and Pepper are always getting on him about how Tony's definition of obvious does not match up with the definition held by the rest of the world. "Not to encourage your love of violence, understandable given your question really, but what are we talking about here?"

"Clint," the fingers don't let up, but they also don't tighten. The threat is more of a heavily worded suggestion really. "We are going to talk about Clint, Stark."

"Ok," and Tony mentally deleted all those plans about the program because it's obviously not needed. "Message received, you can let go of me now. I'll back- uff!"

"You're going to let me talk, Stark, because your misconceptions have stopped being amusing and are going past annoying," Natasha says as Tony chokes just a bit as her fingers tighten for three too long seconds. "Understand?"

"Sure," Tony coughs out as her fingers go back to being light and warning again. "You know how much I love being corrected when I'm wrong. Lay it on me."

"We're partners," Natasha says. Calm and steady as she exerts just enough pressure to stop Tony from trying to squirm out of her grip as she talks. "We have each other's back. On the field and off the field."

"Well, yeah, that's wh-" Tony closes his mouth shut with a snap when the fingers flex.

"I _trust_ him," Natasha says with a weight that Tony can almost feel, and it seems like the most important phrase that she's said. Tony knows just enough about the woman behind the Rushman mask now not to discount the importance of that one word. "And that's it," Natasha continues before Tony can even think to open his mouth to ask any questions, "That is all we are."

That's good to know actually. Just as good as knowing that he apparently hasn't been all that good at hiding his motives lately. The fingers flex again and stay tensed without pressing harder. "I always have Clint's back."

The tone is dark and dire. A warning just before she steps back, and his throat feels colder now. Tony blinks and then spins in his chair, but the lab is empty. Natasha already gone through whatever means she used to get in there in the first place. "Huh."

He rubs his throat hard. Tony's never gotten a shovel talk before. It's an interesting experience. He's not sure he'd like to have to repeat it though.

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Plan B kinda fizzles and nosedives. The team continues to meet in the communal floor, and an unofficial movie night is established to bring Cap up to date on pop culture. Something that more often than not devolves into the whole lot of them arguing about obscure references while Steve watches on in amusement.

It's great for the team, but it doesn't get him all that much closer to Clint. Tony shrugs off the minor set back and goes back to the planning board.

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	3. Plan C

**A Series of Plans  
**

**A Word**: Hm, cake.

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* * *

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Plan C is, in retrospect, a stupid plan that he should have seen the obvious flaw in before getting smacked in the face by it.

He has to give up another floor, but he was planning on doing that anyway with a training floor. He just has to alter the plans he already has to include a much better shooting range than he was originally planning on. One that runs the whole length of the floor and has a an advanced AI to switch out and move the targets depending on a difficulty setting.

Tony doesn't bother programing any difficulty levels below what would be almost impossible for most people to complete. A warm up setting for Clint.

Bruce is only slightly interested in the training floor. The man shrugs, "I don't exactly need it, do I? Besides, good things don't happen when my heart rate gets high."

Tony almost points out the reinforcements that he made sure were in place, on all the levels of the floor really, rated to stand up to the Hulk. Sure, they'd buckle in a second if the big guy were trying, but Tony's fairly confident it'd stand up to any indirect or accidental Hulking out.

"I'm sure there's plenty of other things you can do," Steve cuts in from the boxing ring. There's an open area next to it for the more acrobatic sparring some of them prefer. He's _seen_ what passes for horseplay between Clint and Natasha, and has poked fun at Steve's flipping more often than not. "There's a lot of equipment here."

Steve's pleased, and eying the floor with an assessing gaze that's all planning. Tony can almost see the training schedule he'll be avoiding forming in Cap's head.

"Hm," Natasha hums loud enough to be an acknowledgment. She's perched somewhat impossibly halfway up the rock wall against one of the walls. She's eying the exposed struts of the ceiling. Which Tony had also had reinforced after figuring out where his two favorite assasssin's liked to slip off to when giving him heart attacks. "Some improvements could be made."

"What improvements? Where?" Tony demands because he stole the plans for every SHIELD training facility and made them _better_.

Natasha flows up the wall like her namesake and doesn't even pause before jumping for the closest strut. She uses them like monkeybars, flipping occasionally. "It could use a refrigerator."

Tony pauses and tilts his head because he could have sworn he had one of those, but a quick scan fails to reveal it. "Huh," he's going to have to look into that. Or have Jarvis track it down. "Yeah, I'll get on that."

Three out of four —five?— opinions accounted for. Tony turns to the shooting range. The door is still open from when Clint had disappeared into it the second Tony identified where it led. Tony hears the already familiar sounds of a bow being drawn and released as he nears the door.

Clint stands firmly and at ease as the targets shift and realign for him. His eyes take it all in as the AI does it's work. Spinning, jerking, and moving targets at irregular intervals. Clint tracks them all. Moving his entire body to accommodate it. He releases an arrow as Tony watches, and has another drawn and ready before it can sink into a target. Dead center, of course.

"Well?" Tony butts in because the man has to know he's there. "Does it measure up to your exacting SHIELD standards?"

"Yeah," Clint rotates slightly to the left and Tony watches. A little mesmerized at the way the light plays off Clint's arms as he releases another arrow. Tony doesn't even notice if this one hits. Clint's lips curl up into a satisfied smile. "Yeah, this is good Tony."

"Good," Clint shoots two more arrows while Tony stands there. He's probably grinning stupidly, but no one around him is paying close enough attention to tell except for Jarvis. There's now two floors for use that allow Tony to engage Clint in casual conversation. Plan C is going very well.

.

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The fatal flaw in Plan C comes into focus very, very quickly.

Clint uses the shooting range. Constantly and with a kind of focus that doesn't encourage casual conversation. No matter how often Tony drops in to talk to the back of the man's head. Watching Clint move doesn't quite lose it's appeal, but that's what security feeds are for. He can watch Clint anytime he wants. His plans have all been geared to _talk_ to him.

He's failing pretty badly.

Natasha smirks when Tony fails, again, at prying anything more than single word answers out of Clint on the range. The last one had been more a grunt than a word.

"He has strict time limits imposed on his range time at SHIELD," she offers out of pity as Tony slumps over the counter in the kitchen. Waiting for the coffee pot to put out enough liquid to drink because his teammates are horrible people who don't know to keep the pot full at all times. He's going to have to step up his plans on installing the automatic brewer if this keeps up. "If you leave him to it, he'll move into that range."

"How," Tony waves his empty mug back towards Nat. "How can anyone live like that? Doesn't he have other things he wants to do? I don't know how anyone can just hole themselves up in a room like that for days and not want to come out."

"The irony of what you've just said doesn't even register, does it?" Nat says after a pregnant pause in which a thin stream of black gold finally starts pooling into the pot.

"What irony?" Tony asks as he gauges the rising level with an expert eye. Snatching the carafe out and filling his mug the second there's enough coffee. He takes a careful drink. Burning his tongue a bit but that's a price that has to be paid sometimes. "Hm, I need to get that new pot hooked up. Anyway, I'll be in the labs."

"Of course you will," Nat's voice is dripping with _something_ as Tony leaves the kitchen. The problem of Clint holing up in the range battling in his mind with the importance of having an automated coffee pot as he heads in to the elevators.

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SHIELD has a rather sophisticated lock down plan for Clint, Tony finds out after snooping around some more in their databases. It's a system that involves flooding every range they have with rookies once Clint reaches a certain number of hours logged in per week. It's a startlingly effective tactic. There's footage showing the man's mounting irritation as he draws an awed crowd for longer than it takes him to show off a few really tricky shots. His fingers twitch with each missed shot as greener and younger rookies rotate in and show off just how badly they needed the range time.

Tony doesn't think he can replicate SHIELD's tactics. The bots can be as annoying as rookies, but Clint seems to have more fondness for them than the rookies. Plus, there's no way in hell Tony's going to entrust anything more than an extinguisher to any of them. And even that is something he does with deep seated misgiving since the last time You had spent a day extinguishing every steaming cup of coffee Tony tried to drink.

The range is completely automated. Even the door is operated by Jarvis. Tony could work up a program to lock down the range and refuse Clint entry. Tony tosses the idea around for an hour or two before discarding it. Given the man's fondness for traveling trough the ceilings it probably wouldn't even work to keep him out. He knows that's what he'd do if someone tried to lock him out of his labs. Granted, he'd try hacking the doors, and maybe blowing a few holes in the walls before risking breaking his neck by going the high route.

So, no, no lockout code or flooding the range with bots. Maybe he could lure him out. With cake or arrows or something.

Tony's working out the kinks to a cake baking machine when his screen goes blank. The code he'd been flying through gone in one heart stopping second that never stops being horrifying even though he's got the best autosave feature in the known world. Seriously. One night of brilliant coding gone in a freak accident that had about a one in a million chance of happening was more than enough incentive for Tony to automatically save every keystroke to an offline server.

"Someone ratted you out to Pepper," Clint says from behind and to the left of Tony. A small metallic clang echoing through the lab as he shuts the front of the circuit breaker. Why he has to route everything non-essential to it is a story involving blackmail and Pepper. "You've got a choice now. You can either come with me quietly, or stick around and suffer her wrath when she comes in for the six AM conference."

"Cake," Tony says when Clint comes around the row of lockers that hides the box from the rest of the lab. Weaving far too easily through the obstacles Tony has deliberately taken to putting there to discourage his teammates from exploiting the lab's weakness. "I was just finishing a program for baking cake! How can that be so wrong?"

"I was going more for the fact that you've been locked in here for forty eight hours straight, but that works too," Clint looks amused as he pulls on the back of Tony's chair. Not bothering to try and get him to walk himself. It's completely unfair! Tony's doing this to try and find a way to get _Clint_ to come out of the range. Not Tony out of the lab.

"I'm fine!" Tony grabs onto the underside of the seat as Clint rolls him over some extension cords that've been left out carelessly. By someone who isn't Tony, because two days of not sleeping isn't enough for him to forget things like that. It takes at least three. "Pepper worries too much, and there's nothing wrong with cake! Cake is awesome. Especially cake you don't have to make yourself."

Clint hums as he spins Tony into the hall. Reaching back in to flip a switch to kill the lights. Tony blinks in the sudden dimness of the hall, seeing those fun glowing orbs that mean he's been staring at one thing for far too long. That hum isn't really much of a response though and Tony frowns. Everyone liked cake except for diehard nutritionists and freaks of nature. "You like cake, don't you?"

He's kinda screwed if Clint doesn't, because that's going to send him back to the drawing board. Again. It'll also mean he's attracted to a freak of nature. Which is actually kinda par for the course. Pepper was a diehard nutritionist so Tony's due for a freak or two.

"Sure," Clint spins Tony and pushes him down the hall. "Jarvis, get the elevator would you?"

"What kind?" Tony crans his head back to look at the bottom of Clint's chin. Focusing immediately on a small patch of hair that looks like it's escaped the razor a few days running. He ignores the fact that the elevator opens immediately, which means Jarvis knew this was coming and didn't warn him.

Clint wheels them both in the bright elevator and slouches against the wall. He's wearing a wrinkled shirt and soft looking sweats. There's still a vivid red line on his face from the pillow he was sleeping on not too long ago. "I dunno. Milk cake I guess."

"What the fuck's a milk cake?" Tony frowns because he's never even heard of that before, and also because Clint's hair looks like something birds could nest in. It's obvious the man just rolled out of bed and it shouldn't be a look that Tony likes as much as he does. It's patently unfair. "Don't all cakes use milk?"

"I get it in Mexico a lot," Clint says with a shrug and a yawn as the elevator slows to a stop. The doors sliding open as Clint pushes Tony into his floor. Turning right and heading back for the bedroom even though Tony'd much rather be left at the bar if he couldn't be in his lab. "I think it's soaked in different kinds of milk after it's done baking. I really don't know. I just eat it."

"Huh," well, damn. That's a hell of a lot more complicated than anything his current plans for the machine can make. Tony's just been busy programing it to measure, mix, and bake. Icing was a whole other issue that he's fairly sure will take a separate machine with a limited AI. Maybe more if there's more now that he's got to contend with another step before the icing. "So nothing that can be made out of a box then."

"Nope," Clint says with a snicker as he wheels Tony into the room and stops right next to his bed. The sheets have been changed since Tony's sure he accidentally got engine grease on them the last time he passed out. "You gonna get up or do I have to actually throw you in there?"

That's an interesting question actually and Tony considers it for a few seconds before tipping himself forward into the bed. It'd be a lot more interesting if he even thought Clint might mean that question in anything but a literal way.

"Holy crap," Tony mutters into the mattress. It's soft and warm and way more comfortable than Tony remembers his bed being. Why did he ever leave it on Friday? "I love my bed."

There's a bark of laughter as he's pushed and prodded until he's all the way on the bed. Sprawled out like a starfish and already slipping under. Clint's voice warm and far away, "Wouldn't know it by how hard it is to get you there."

.

.

Plan C isn't a failure, but it also isn't a resounding success. He came up with it, he implemented it, and not a whole lot changed. It sort of just exists. Tony abandons his plans to tinker with it and goes back to the drawing board.

.

.


End file.
